Divergent
by subseeker
Summary: Caught in a stuck elevator, John and Randy are confronted with themselves and their ruined friendship. But is it really to late to repair the damage? Sorry, I suck at summaries. This is Centon one-shot with slashy themes.


Just a little Centon-something, because there can never be enough Centon in one's life ;3

Hope you'll enjoy!

* * *

Except for the hushed talking of a bunch of people walking through the hall, the hotel was rather quiet. It was late already, actually late enough to say it was early again. The show had been really good and some of them had decided to go out for a drink or two to celebrate a little. And even that group was now making its way to the elevators, disturbing the relative peace in here.

With a ping the doors of the elevator opened, feet shuffled in. The doors closed. A blink later there was soft jerk as it began its way up, stopping the first time only after two floors. Ping. Doors opened. Good-nights were said as feet shuffled out. Doors closed…

Shifting his stance a little, John leaned with his shoulder against the wall of the elevator, yawning heartily. He'd wanted to hit the hay more than two hours ago already, but it had been like always and he'd ended up letting himself being talked round for just another thirty minutes which had turned out to be… two hours. He was sure that the reason that he was still standing on his feet was based on the rudimental instinct only to fall asleep in a safe environment, what would be a bed in his own room.

Stop. Ping. Doors opened. Good-night. Shuffling. Doors closed.

He noticed that they had reached the sixth floor now. His room was on the tenth. Three more of his co-workers in here, none of them having their room on his floor and he couldn't remember that reaching the tenth floor had ever taken that long.

He wasn't really drunk, rather pleasently tipsy and for once he wasn't brooding. One beer less and he would have ended up struggling with his thoughts. One beer more? The very same. Fruitless pondering, his new hobby. The annoying thing about it was, that he had come only so far with his pondering that he knew that something was missing in his life. Well, at least it felt like something was missing.

With a tired groan he closed his eyes and shifted again, now leaning with his back against the wall while rubbing his hands through his face and when he opened his eyes again, they fell on…

He hesitated for a moment.

Stop. Ping.

When had he come in here? He hadn't been out with them and he hadn't seen him waiting in the hall for the elevator…

Doors opened. Shuffling. Good-night.

"Yeah, night," he muttered while he faintly realized that his hands were still touching his cheeks, like a bad imitation of Kevin in Home Alone.

Doors closed.

And then he was alone… with Randy.

He still stared as his gaze was met, those grey orbs gazing at him carefully and for no apparent reason he felt a strange pricking at the base of his skull. Bringing his hands down slowly, John crossed his arms over his chest while wiping his face blank. With a nod towards the other man he wanted to turn around and away from him again, because he wasn't willed to trade his pleasant tipsiness for a bad mood… as the elevator came to an abrupt stop. The unexpected and hard jolt left him stumbling to the side with him ending up in the corner of the small room, holding on to the handrail while not quite standing on his feet and not really sitting on his ass.

And with the jolt… came darkness.

"What the fuck…?" he said quietly, gazing wide-eyed into the blackness, listening into it.

Nothing. Neither was there the faintest of lights nor a sound. Well… that wasn't quite true. There was a sound and it took him a second to file it. Harsh breathing, interrupted by sharp little gasps.

"Randy?" he asked hushed.

A low groan.

"Talk to me, Orton," John said as there was no other reaction from Randy.

"I hit my head," Randy muttered. "Fuck… _fucking shit_…"

"You sitting?"

"No, I'm sticking to the ceiling," Randy huffed.

Another low groan and the _fact_ that Randy groaned like this after having hit his head was alarming and instead of getting back to his feet, he lowered himself down to the floor and slowly crawled over to where he guessed that Randy was sitting. After a moment his hand bumped against a leg and he was getting a flinch in response.

"What the hell, Cena?"

Inching closer, John kneeled beside Randy and reached up, gingerly feeling for a shoulder, carefully moving his hands to the other man's neck from there and to his face.

"What the fuck do you…?!" Randy snapped, but John cut him off.

"It's always a pleasure to hear your lovely voice, Randy, but now for once shut your mouth. I just want to know how bad you hit your head," he muttered, gently letting his fingers travel over the short hair to find a bumpf or worse, a cut.

And then he was shoved back, the push sending him on his ass.

"Take your hands off," Randy growled. "It's just a bump, so safe your fake worry for someone else."

Sitting there in the middle of the blackness, John wasn't really surprised by this reaction. Still it stung. Although he'd thought that he'd passed the point were a reaction like this from Randy would itch him at all. Yet…

"Believe it or not, I was really worried. You didn't sound good, but obviously you're feeling good enough to be an ass," John shot back as he climbed to his feet, reaching out for the handrail to find his way to the elevator doors.

When he found it, he squinted into the darkness to find a possible faint light coming through the crack between the doors, but there was nothing. Obviously the elevator had stopped right between two floors. With a sigh he turned a bit to the side, letting his fingers brush around until he found the panel and the intercom. There, too, was no light that indicated that the intercom was working. He pushed the button nevertheless, calling for whoever there was sitting at the other end of the line. Again nothing.

"A total blackout," he sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wonderful.

"The intercom doesn't work?" he heard the other man ask and snorted.

"Did you hear someone answer, Orton?"

A soft rustling and shuffling told him that Randy got up from his place on the floor, heard him grumble: "Shouldn't be very difficult to open the doors."

"No, it's probably not very difficult but it looks like we're stuck between two floors, so even if we open them, we won't be able to get out."

For a moment there was silence.

Then: "You're kidding me."

Crossing his arms over his chest, John turned and shot the other man an unseen glare.

"Sure, because I can't think of anything better than spending my time with your lovely presence in a fucking elevator," he scoffed.

There weren't much sounds to be heard around, due to the late hour and the elevator that was sealing the outside world off pretty good, so the sudden harsh sound of accelerating breathing was very much audible in the darkness. And then steps, coming towards him or rather towards the doors. He felt the other man bump against his shoulder, heard the sound fingers trying to find a hold in the obvious attempt to part the doors.

"I'm not gonna sit here and wait until someone notices something," Randy muttered, panted almost and it caused a frown to spread on John's face.

"Randy…"

No reaction, only a grunt and the metallic sound of the doors giving way, opening a bit and as he gazed over, he saw faint light falling through the broadened crack. And he also saw that they were really stuck between two floors, the space in the ceiling area barely wide enough for Randy to slip through it and the idea of seeing him try to get out through that small passage caused a bad feeling in the depths of his guts, made the hair on his neck stand on end.

"Randy, stop!" he said sharply, but again there was no reaction.

The bit of light was enough to grant him sight on the other man's strained face and the determined expression John found there as Randy gazed up to the opening told him that Randy _would_ try to get out. He moved before he was really aware of what he was doing, grabbing Randy… shoving him back and away from the doors. With an accusing sound the doors snapped close.

"What _the fuck_ is your problem, Cena?!" Randy roared, not wasting any time as he walked towards the doors again.

But John blocked his way.

"I can't let you do that," he hissed as he once more sent Randy back. "You'll barely fit through the opening. What if you get stuck or something happens while you try to get through it and…"

He never ended his sentence. Almost as if the elevator wanted to underline his anxiety, there was suddenly a creak echoing through the small room and a tremor shook the ground under their feet, before a loud snap ripped through the blackness.

And the elevator dropped. Not much. But enough.

With an even louder bang it came to a stop again, the sudden loss of contact to the floor and the equally sudden return causing them both to end up lying on the floor, all of it happening to quickly to even give a yelp of surprise.

Silence. Yet not. Blood was buzzing in John's ears while his heart hammered against his chest hard enough to make breathing difficult, but he did breathe, deep breath after deep breath until his heart calmed down. With his calming heartbeat the buzzing faded, being replaced by… panting. Harsh, quick. Too quick. _Much_ too quick.

"Randy?" he said, shifting to feel around for the other man, but he found nothing. "Come on, talk to me."

Keeping on feeling around, John begang to crawl into the direction of the breathing until his hand found a sneaker. He moved closer, his hand slowly moving up a leg. Randy was sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest and he was trembling hard, was close to hyperventilating.

"Randy, calm down," John soothed as he carefully put his arms around the other man and the reaction was immediate.

With a stifled cry Randy lashed out, his hand colliding with John's nose. With a pained grunt he jerked back as pain exploded in his face, bringing tears to his eyes, but while he did, his hands closed around Randy's arms, pulling the struggling man in. His arms wrapped around the leaner frame, locking around him to stop him from lashing out in panic and it cost him all his strength not to let go.

"Hey, sssh, come on, it's okay," he said hushed. "The elevator won't drop further. Calm down. You need to breathe slowly, you hear me?" For a second the struggling increased, before it got weaker and weaker, but the breathing was still too quick and it almost felt as if Randy was about to pass out. "Randy!" he said, this time louder, giving him a gentle shake. "You need to calm down, dammit!"

And because John was at a loss what else to do as Randy did _not_ calm down, he tightened his hold on the other man until it was impossible for Randy to take deep breaths. And somehow it worked. After a moment the struggling stopped and with it Randy's breathing slowly dropped to a level that could be called breathing again and while he felt Randy sag against him, hanging in his embrace like a heap of laundry, John's mind found the time to focus on other things than calming Randy down.

Involuntary his eyes found back to were not long ago the doors had showed that bit of space Randy had wanted to crawl through and it sent a freezing shiver down his spine… the idea what would have happened if Randy had tried to get out and the elevator… had dropped. Sickness coiled up in his guts. Screwing his eyes shut, he willed the thought away while pressing his cheek against the short cropped hair.

"We're gonna stay in here until someone comes to get us out, you hear me?" he breathed. "You're not trying to open those doors again and crawl out. I swear if you try that again, I'm gonna punch your lights out, Orton."

A soft nod against his cheek. And then hands on his back, fingers curling in his tee. But only for a moment, before he felt Randy let go of him, felt him draw back and out of his arms and although they hadn't been… friends… lately, he couldn't help but notice that small part of him that didn't want to let go of the other man. His arms remembered the feeling of being wrapped around Randy, a feeling he'd always… loved. Back then when they had been closer, they had touched and hugged constantly. Now any kind of bodily contact was limited to their matches, just like their talking was reduced to what was necessary for the show.

Still he let go, because the bigger part of him straightened up and squared its shoulders, reminding him that they actually didn't get along anymore.

Scooting backwards until his back connected with a wall, he drew his knees up and braced his elbows against them, burying his face in his hands. His tipsyness was long gone, leaving only bitter soberness behind.

"Fuck," he mumbled, fighting down the lingering sickness. "You okay?"

"Just dandy," Randy said, attempting to sound biting but all that came out was a croak.

"Didn't know you're claustrophobic. You had me shocked a bit. And the next time when someone tells you not to crawl out of a stuck elevator, just listen to them."

A huff.

"I apologize for not telling you before we got stuck in an elevator and for trying to get out of here, Cena."

Now it was John's turn to huff.

"Geez, Orton, sorry that your panic-fit worried me and sorry for caring that you don't get snapped in half by the fucking elevator!"

This… was ridiculous.

"You _care_, huh? When was the last time you _really_ cared, _John_?" Randy snapped then, the hurt note in his voice not going unnoticed by John.

"Jesus, Randy, even if I hated you I wouldn't want to see you… die…" John snapped back, his voice breaking at the last word.

Fuck yes, this _was_ ridiculous. And fuck no, he wouldn't take the whole blame here. The shit between them wasn't his fault alone and although he wasn't claustrophobic, he didn't feel all to happy sitting in here. The dropping elevator had scratched his nerves raw.

Looking up into the darkness, staring holes into the man he couldn't see, he said in a voice as neutral as possible: "So you think the shit between us is my fault alone, huh?"

There was an affirmative little sound from the other side.

"It is not, Orton. It's as much _your shit_ as it is mine. When was the last time you _let_ me care? Weren't you the one who told me to fuck off again and again?"

A bitter chuckle reached his ears and he hated that he couldn't see Randy.

"Yeah, I fucking did that because you simply couldn't stop critizing me! And I'm not speaking about you and me talking things out like we used to do. What I mean is you telling me what to do and not to do. What I mean is _you_ telling me the whole time that all I do is _bullshit_! What I fucking mean is…!"

Randy's enraged voice trailed off as another quiet creak pierced the dark air around them. A gasp mixing into it and the heated tension between them was gone in a blink. Although the creaking sound wasn't quite encouraging, John was sure that this goddamn thing wouldn't drop any further. But he was also sure that Randy wasn't as sure about it.

"Don't worry, it won't drop further," John repeated his words from a few minutes ago, his eyes jumping over to the not visible doors as he willed his voice to sound positive. "Elevators have a clamping system and the moment it dropped it has been activated, so…"

"How can you know that. Have you taken a look?"

"No, but if it hadn't been activated, then the elevator would have dropped completely. So: it won't drop. Okay?"

Silence. And he was glad that the tension between them was gone, at least for the moment. Yes, he had his issues with Randy, but this fighting they always ended up with lately wasn't what he wanted.

"Thanks," Randy mumbled eventually. "For holding me back and… you know, for…"

… _being there when I panicked._

Randy didn't say it but John heard it.

"Anytime," John replied quietly.

"How long do you think will it take until they notice the stuck elevator?"

Frowning, John shrugged his shoulders. And remembered that Randy couldn't see it.

"Dunno, but it can't take that long. The maintenance service, a guest… someone will notice," he sighed, stretching his legs out. "Randy, you okay over there?"

Randy groaned.

"Stop asking me that, Cena. I'm stuck in an elevator with no light and with you, so, fuck no, I'm not okay!"

And back it was, the tension.

"We can't talk anymore like normal people do, not even for three minutes, can we?"

"No, we can't. Get over it, Cena. I did a long time ago."

Those words carried the same hurt note he'd heard not long ago and to it added resignation and disappointment and John felt it weigh down on him somehow. And Randy was right, he had been critizising him over and over again and it hadn't been constructive criticism. He'd noticed it himself but he hadn't managed to hold himself back.

The worst thing was… he couldn't even tell when their friendship had started to go down the drain. The moment he'd noticed it… it had already been too late. A friendship shouldn't end like that.

And _their_ friendship had been supposed to be forever. It had _felt_ like the kind of a forever-friendship, hatched out of barren ground, grown up strong against all odds and nourished with trust and affection to what went far beyond being a strong bond. It had been unique with a chemistry that was as unique and amazing and special.

And just like this… it had died.

When John spoke again, his voice was a mere whisper as he said aloud what he'd been carrying in his heart all the time: "We used to be friends, Randy. What the hell has happened to us?"

"You stopped being John and started to be WWE's workhorse," Randy flat out stated, not accusation but smoldering indifference lying in it.

"So it's my fault again? You're making it pretty easy for yourself, don't you, Randy? To put the blame on me."

"Easy? No, I'm not making it easy for myself. I never did and you fucking _know_ that," Randy hissed. "I can only tell about what my problem with you is. You obviously have issues with me, too, but you know what? I don't care anymore."

"You're right, Randy, I have issues with you. My problem with you is, that you just don't get your act together. Drug and med problems. You almost killed yourself. Being an arrogant asshole, a goddamn spoiled brat. A second Wellness Program violation. And I was there at your side all the time, to get what now, a kick in the ass?"

A snort, but not amused.

And the worst thing was, that all the things he'd just hauled at Randy weren't even the real reason that he had been acting like he'd done towards the other man. In fact it all had started out with Randy avoiding him more and more, dodging his questions and things like that and over the time John had reached the point of not knowing anymore how to approach his friend, until his helplessness had changed to… aggression. Suddenly no matter what Randy did or said, if it concerned John or not, it was wrong. And at that point John hadn't even realized, really realized what he was doing.

"Aah, the things you said are a thing of the past aren't a thing of the past then. I should have know, shouldn't I? Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore anyway," Randy muttered, sounding somewhat weary.

The words faded off in the blackness and what stayed behind was the sting Randy's first statement had left. That he had stopped being himself.

"This job is my life and I don't see what's wrong with that. My whole life I worked my ass off. Nothing has changed. I don't have changed."

He tried not to let show up in his voice how much Randy's words stung him. And it was hard…

"Is that so? You say no to their faces on-screen, John, but when was the last time you said it to them off-screen? You get injured and although the doc tells you to take a break of six months, you let them talk you into coming back after three months. You risk your health for shit. You've become a walking commercial, for God's sake! Fuck, where's the John who cared more about his family and friends than anything else? You put your job above everything else now, you…!" A dull thud told him that Randy just hit the elevator wall. "Whatever. You know what you're doing, you're old enough. I just don't want to be part of it anymore."

A verbal slap to the face, adding to the stinging. Most of all because he knew Randy was right… although he'd never seen it this way before.

"That's not me," John said monotone, more to himself than to Randy actually.

He heard Randy take a deep breath, exhaling a heavy sigh before he spoke again: "No, you're right, that's not _you_. But it's what you've become."

Unseen by Randy John closed his eyes tightly, brow furrowing at the sadness and the regret coating the other man's voice…and at the tugging in his chest it left there. And he wished… wished so very much… it could be like back then, when Randy had been closer to him like anyone else in his life.

"Why haven't you talked to me?" he asked then, eventhough he was sure he knew the answer already.

For a long, long moment there was no answer, no reaction at all and John was sure that Randy had decided to stop the conversation here. A minute? It sure felt like a little eternity.

"You just wouldn't listen to me and I…" Randy replied after that little eternity, quietly, very-very quietly, but he trailed off, breathed another heavy sigh. "You know, I actually don't want to talk about it. You live your life, I live mine. It's not like it used to be anymore. I accepted it and you should, too."

Blinking into the darkness, John shook his head slightly no. He couldn't accept it just like this, not after that thin cover of ice that had built over their ruined friendship had cracked now and so he did what he hadn't done in a long while when it came to Randy, he pushed a bit more to make the crack a hole to reveal what was lying hidden under that ice. For the first time in… he had no idea when the last time was that he _wanted_ to revive their friendship, _really_ _wanted_ it to become what it once had been… He wanted Randy back in his life. And although Randy did his best to make him believe that he didn't care anymore, Randy's reactions spoke otherwise and John knew him enough to hear things between the words.

Randy had given up on them… but he had never stopped caring…

"No," John murmured, scooting over, closer to the other man. "I may have not been listening to you the whole time, but I'm listening now. Talk to me, Randy. Please."

"Huh, you just can't leave it be, can you?"

"No. I can't and I don't want to. Yeah, the air between us had been bad but if there's a chance to fix this… let's give it a try. We can do it Randy. I know we can."

The bitter laughter that reached his ears sent a shiver down his spine and it made him achingly aware how much he missed Randy's full, rumbling and hearty laughter.

"So, you want to fix this, John? Huh, okay… let's see how you'll fix this," Randy muttered. "I was unable to cope with it. With you not being my John, my best friend anymore and…" Randy fell silent for a brief moment and John could hear him swallow, could hear him take a few deeper breaths as if he tried to calm down… "You didn't see it, did you?"

_I didn't see it?_

"See what?

A dark chuckle breached the darkness.

"Randy, I didn't see _what_?"

Maybe it was the cover of darkness and the knowledge that neither the camera nor the intercom worked that the truth passed Randy's lips, barely more than a whisper.

"I loved you, John."

"I loved you, too, Randy. I always…"

"_No_, John, you were more than just a friend for me. _I loved you_. And I was okay with not being with you that way as long as you were at my side but then you had to go and replace my John with the man you are now and I couldn't… I…"

Helpless. Disappointed and _hurt_. And forlorn.

It took a second for John to process the message but when he understood, it hit him like blow, knocking the breath right out of him, causing his heart to drop deep enough to get lost in the depths of elevator shaft.

"Randy, I…" he began breathless, but words failed him.

"Now, tell me, John, how are you gonna _fix_ _this_?" Randy breathed… so… bitter.

There was a low hum running through the elevator and the sudden glaring light that came with it made him screw his eyes shut. With another creak and a bang following, the elevator moved upwards for a moment before it stopped again. With a ping the doors opened and it was the moment John opened his eyes again as he got up from the floor, blinking at a group of three men standing in the corridor. He heard them ask if they were alright, but he didn't say anything, only nodded, turning around to Randy... who walked past him, his face a stony mask. But his eyes…

"Randy, wait," he called, quickly following him, but Randy kept on walking.

"I'm done with talking, Cena. Leave me the fuck alone."

Reaching out, John curled his fingers around the other man's wrist to stop him. With a hiss Randy shook it off immediately.

"Don't you fucking touch me," he growled, quickening his pace but John stepped into his way, effectively stopping him snaking an arm around his middle as Randy tried to walk around him.

Dipping his head forward and closing his eyes, Randy whispered: "I said don't touch me…"

But there was no attempt to get rid of John's arm. Randy just stood there, shoulders a bit hunched, the handsome face strained, tense… brows furrowed, not in anger but sadness… and it took John all his willpower not to pull him into a tight hug. One of those hugs they had shared in the past, the kind of hugs that had always made him feel good. He knew it wouldn't be welcome now.

"I know you still care. Give me five minutes," he said, almost begged. "_Please_."

Tilting his head back, Randy sighed, before he muttered a _yeah_ and continued his way, slipping out of John's arm. A few meters later he stopped at a door, opened it and went in without looking back… leaving it open though and John followed him.

He found him standing at the window on the opposite side of the room, gazing out. Waiting. Silent. But only until the door fell close.

"What do you expect from me, John?" Randy asked wearily, running a hand over his short-cropped hair, before crossing his arms over his chest and once again those shoulders hunched and for the first time ever he saw Randy look… small.

And as he stood there, gazing at the man he'd called his best friend for over a decade, he felt something shift within him, like a veil falling off and it showed him something he should have seen much sooner.

What he missed in his life was Randy. Everything… led back to him. Had always. It wasn't only about reviving a friendship, it was about having this man back at his side. Over the long time of being closer than close, Randy had become a part of him. And without this part… he wasn't complete.

"There is a hole in my life and I just realized that it is there ever since… you're not part of it anymore," John said quietly. "I've been so blind…"

Turning around and leaning against the windowsill, Randy met his gaze carefully.

"No shit, Cena."

Still weary.

"I want you back in my life, Ran." At the mention of this petname he saw Randy tighten his lips to a thin line, saw him even flinch a little, before an unreadable expression spread over his face. "Please give me a chance. Give _us_ a chance. I'm sorry for being an ass, okay? I never wanted to hurt you."

Randy kept looking at him with that expression, silent, but those grey orbs followed John as he began to apporach him slowly until it was only a meter that separated them. A part of him was thankful that they had been stuck in that goddamn elevator or else they would be in their respective rooms now, still far away from fixing a friendship that should never have shattered in the first place.

But there was something else that lay on John's heart. Something they hadn't had the time to talk about in the elevator.

"You said you loved me," he said quietly, watched as there was the briefest of glints in Randy's eyes.

"I still do love you, John," Randy replied so clear and unhesitant that it caused a funny tingle in John's belly. "I never… I never stopped. But to be honest, I don't want to love the man you've become. And I don't want this man as a friend."

"Then help me to change. I... gosh, you're right, I didn't see it. I didn't see you and I didn't see… myself. I'm gonna do whatever it takes, just please, I want my best friend back…"

He was begging now and he fucking didn't care. All that mattered was that Randy would say yes. Dropping his gaze to the floor momentarily, Randy exhaled a heavy sigh for the umpteenth time, but as he looked back up, there was a certain softness lying in his eyes, dyed with a trace of forgiveness. The heavily inked arms fell to his sides and the unreadable expression faded, giving way to a vulnerability John hadn't seen on the other man's face in a long while.

A silent yes.

Closing the distance between them, John rested his forehead against Randy's, his hand finding to his friend's head to cradle it while his other arm wrapped around his neck, savoring the feeling of having him close while wave after wave of relief rolled through him.

"I'm sorry, Ran," he whispered, relief trickling into it, just as the growing sparks of a too long disregarded affection. "_I'm so sorry_."

He waited. For Randy, waited for him to let go of what should never have happened and while he did, he felt the bad air that had lingered between them fade, creating room for what they had been once. And he felt as Randy passed the last point of uncertainty.

"God, Johnny, I missed you so much…" Randy breathed, his arms coming up to circle John's waist, pressing closer and John couldn't help but tighten his own hold.

He'd missed this. He'd missed _Randy_. Smoothing his hand down to the back of Randy's neck, he let his thumb brush over the soft hair there in a comforting caress, feeling a certain humming surrounding them. His name was said hushed, softly as Randy tilted his head…

… and time stood still as John felt a featherlight kiss being breathed to his lips in a touch so soft and shy.

It lasted only a heartbeat. Not enough time to think about what had just happened but just enough time to feel. Then he felt Randy draw back quickly, words of apology falling from those lips which had just warmed his own and he didn't think, just listened to what his heart told him this very second and whispering Randy's name, he pulled him back in and… and kissed him.

Those words of apology were swallowed by sealing lips as John claimed Randy's mouth in a gentle and hesitant kiss, lips slowly moving against each other, tongues meeting in a shy dance. There was the faint taste of alcohol and something sweet, something that was uniquely Randy and it made John's heart run in his chest.

He felt Randy's hands settle on his waist, felt his fingers splay for a moment, before they twisted in his shirt to bring them closer. His hands found Randy's face, framing it and the way the beardstubble felt against his palms was… good.

Eventually he broke the kiss and brought their foreheads together again and it was almost funny how this kiss left him panting, but it did.

"Johnny… what are you doing?" Randy whispered and John could feel Randy's heart as fast as his own through their touching chests.

"I have no idea," he admitted quietly. "But it felt like the right thing to do."

"I… I shouldn't have kissed you, I don't know what… it just happened, I… I'm sorry…" Randy apologized again, trying to pull back a bit, but John didn't let him because it felt too good. "You don't really want this, Johnny."

Softly rolling his forehead against Randy's in a silent yes, he replied: "What I want is you being at my side and… I don't know what will happen from here on, but I do know that this feels good and I don't want to question it. Okay?"

A hestiant nod and Randy shifted a bit, buried in face in the crook of John's neck but not without nuzzling his cheek against John's on his way. A smile tugged at John's lips as hesitant hands sneaked under his shirt and yes, this should maybe have felt strange… but it didn't. In fact he hadn't felt that good for ages.

His eyes wandered over the busyness of the night life out there, taking in the uncountable lights in uncountable colors while his mind stayed in here, clinging to the man in his arms and it whispered to him, asking if this special chemistry between them had always been more than just friendship. Maybe. They had been given a second chance to find out about it and whatever the future would hold in store, if it was friendship or… more… he would happily accept it.

"Johnny… maybe we should try to be friends again first before we try… something else," he heard Randy wistfully mumble from out of his hiding place.

"Says the one who has his hands under my shirt," John replied softly, not holding back the grin that laced into it, adding as he felt the hands on his waist being pulled away: "Don't. Leave them there. It feels good."

The hands resumed their places on him, fingers splaying and it chased goosebumps over his skin.

"Stay tonight?"

The question was spoken hesitantly, shy almost. So unlike Randy. Cute…

"Hands under shirts included?"

A snort against his neck.

"Friendship, Johnny."

"I didn't say whose hands under whose shirt," he hummed, nuzzling his cheek against the short hair, taking in the nice way it tickled his skin.

And then Randy pressed his face a bit more against his neck, the feeling causing a tingling in John's chest.

"I missed this, Johnny. I missed us."

Turning his face just enough to place his lips against Randy's hair in what might have been a kiss or maybe only an affectionate, innocent touch, he breathed: "Yeah…"

"Can we stay like this a little longer?"

"As long as you want, Ran. As long as you want…"

Quietness fell and somehow it felt like the time stood still in this room, while the life out there went on in its usual busy way, minute fading into minute, precious moments passing by, lost forever for the world out there. But in here, their own precious moment stayed and it was perfect enough to shut bad memories out and the painful past, older and younger. It silenced the echo of nasty words and the burning of angry glares.

His mind, his heart… his whole being narrowed on Randy and with a smile on his lips John closed his eyes. It was back, his missing part… and he would never let him go again…

* * *

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